by Alex P. Berg
42
I braced myself for something spectacular. Quinto threw open the roller shutter, sending it clanging along its guide rail. I stepped into the lockup, expecting to find a vicious arsenal and instead found…
Nothing.
“It’s empty,” I said. If nothing else, I’m a master at stating the obvious.
I stepped into the storage locker, which ran about a half dozen paces back before ending in a wall of shiny metal slats. The locker enticed me about as much as an empty mug of beer and had roughly the same long-term appeal. It held nothing but a few dead leaves, a thin layer of dust, and my crushed expectations.
I crouched to inspect the dust for prints, trying to act like a supernaturally gifted detective out of a cheap dime novel, but I don’t think I fooled anyone. There was nothing on the floor except for scuffs and smudges.
I stood and turned to my partner. “I don’t suppose you’re feeling anything coming on about now? Maybe some mystical foresight into past events or a fleeting image of the threads of time?”
Shay smushed her lips together and shrugged.
“Right now I’d settle for anything,” I said. “Some déjà vu, maybe. Even a wicked case of indigestion that leads to portentous hallucinations would do the trick.”
“Sorry,” said Shay. “You know I can’t control how it works. What exactly were you expecting to find here anyway?”
“The weapons,” I said.
“What weapons? You mean the ones Occam hauled off from here? The ones we found littered all over his underground dope lab?”
“No,” I said. “Not those weapons. The other weapons.”
“What other weapons?” asked Quinto.
I eyed my partner and my old friend. “Really? I can’t be the only one who sees this.”
I got a couple blank looks in response.
“Doesn’t it strike either of you as odd that Reggie, a slum rat born and bred in the Erming, was able to broker arms deals with all sorts of disparate entities, including several foreign commonwealths? That’s not exactly easy. You need contacts to do that. High level contacts. Contacts that people from the Erming don’t have.”
I paced as I talked. “We assumed Reginald forged those bank statements to hide the fact that he stole the contract money. It made sense because that’s what con men steal—money. But what if there was no money to steal? What if the contracts never existed? What if Reggie faked everything? The signed contracts, the bank statements, the shipping invoices, the receipts. Reggie’s real talent was in forging, not theft. What if his con wasn’t to steal money from Mr. Drury, but to steal weapons? In the right hands, weapons are as good as gold. Takes time to sell them, of course, and you have to know the right people, but coming from the Erming, those are the kinds of contacts Reggie might’ve had. The only problem is, he would’ve needed a place to store the weapons. A place like this.”
Quinto scratched his head. “That’s a pretty good theory, Daggers. Except for one problem—there’s no weapons here.”
“I know. I hate it when that happens!” I slammed my fist into the metal slats at the back of the locker.
They rattled.
“That’s odd,” I said. “Aren’t most walls a little more…firm than that?”
I pounded again, lower on the wall, and again the wall vibrated. I searched around the seams of the metal slats looking for a handle or something to grab hold of, but I couldn’t find anything.
Quinto walked over, coming shoulder to shoulder with me in the lockup.
“Here,” he said. “Let’s try pushing on it with our palms and lifting at the same time. I’ll take this side, you take that one. On three.”
He counted, and on his mark we lifted.
Wouldn’t you know it—the wall slid up and back, rolling off along another guide rail like the one holding the shutter in front. Behind it stretched a cavernous, unlit room, but enough light filtered in from the street to illuminate part of its contents.
Piles of weapons, stacked to the ceiling. Hundreds of swords and daggers, axes and hatchets, maces, halberds, flails, and more. Enough to kill a man in just about every way imaginable, as long as that death somehow involved a piece of steel.
“Wow,” said Quinto.
“Wow is right,” I said. “Although I think you left your thought unfinished. Perhaps you meant to say, ‘Wow, I can’t believe how incredibly right Detective Jake Daggers was about the weapons thing.’”
Quinto turned back from the dark crevasse to speak to my partner. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he likes to gloat.”
“Oh, I’d noticed,” said Shay. She smirked at me as she rose an eyebrow.
“Quinto, slide that door back down,” I said. “We’ll have to send an entire squadron of bluecoats over here later to cart off this mess. Even with your wide frame along, I doubt we’d make more than a dent in that pile by ourselves.”
Quinto obliged.
“So, what now, oh master of deduction?” asked Shay.
“Now?” I said. “Now, we go dispense some justice. And maybe stop for lunch along the way. But mostly the justice part.”
43
Shay thought I was kidding, but I never kid when it comes to lunch. I was hungry, gosh darn it, and I needed food.
I insisted we stop at a place called Loaders on our trip to the Talent mansion. Loaders was a sandwich shop, and true to their name, they loaded their hoagies with everything under the sun. Some of their sandwiches were so big they threatened to eat your face as opposed to the other way around. That suited me just fine. I was regretting my morning breakfast bypass. By the time we got our food, my stomach was grumbling worse than my ninety-year-old arthritic grandfather on the eve of a thunderstorm.
I got the Loaders version of a muffuletta, which contained no less than four distinct cured pork products, sliced thin, covered in melted cheese. Quinto ordered the special, a chicken pesto panini that tickled my nose with hints of basil, parsley, and pine nuts. Even my svelte partner partook in the feast. She ordered a hefty grinder with real, honest-to-goodness dead animal bits inside. Perhaps my particular style of gastronomy was rubbing off on her.
Quinto tore into his sub, but he still found enough free mouth space to complain. “Rodgers isn’t going to be happy we made him wait.”
I swallowed a hot mouthful of my delicious pig medley. “What are you talking about? He probably hasn’t even left the station yet. You know how tough it is to pull a warrant out of the Captain’s crevices.”
Quinto shuddered at my choice of language. “Maybe you’re right. Even so, he won’t be happy we got lunch without him.”
“I’ll buy you a mint before we leave,” I said. “Rodgers’ll never know.”
“You know,” said Shay, “you still haven’t explained how you intend to tie this whole mess to Mr. Talent.”
“I’m saving the explanation for later when it’ll have greater dramatic effect.”
“Or, you’re making things up as you go along,” said Shay.
“Trust me,” I said. “I’ve got a good gut feeling about this. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s about as concrete a lead as one of your thread-filled visions.”
Shay gave me one of those looks only women are good at, with her head cocked to one side and her lips pursed. I ignored her and wolfed down the rest of my sandwich.
After lunch, we high-tailed it to the Talent estate. We found Rodgers pacing back and forth in front of the gate, an envelope displaying the official seal of justice clutched in his left hand.
“Where the heck have you guys been?” he said. “I’ve been waiting here for the last half hour.”
“Um…” I glanced at my partners in crime. “We got held up at the warehouse. Place was harder to find than we’d anticipated.”
“Oh.” Rodgers sniffed the air. “Does anybody else smell bacon?”
“Hmm?” said Shay.
“What?” said Quinto.
“I think you’re losing it,” I told Rodgers. “Is
that our warrant?”
Rodgers lifted the envelope. “Sure is. Had to sweet-talk the Captain, but I got it. We’d better find something good here, though, otherwise the Captain’s liable to flay the four of us alive. He granted this on what I’d generously refer to as shaky evidence, so it’s his ass on the line if anything goes south.”
“Well then, we’d better find something incriminating.” I motioned toward the mansion. “Shall we?”
We pushed past the lemon-faced guard at the gate and pounded on the front door. Jeeves was none too happy to see that Shay and I had returned, or that we’d brought company for the return visit. I asked if the man of the house was in. The butler confirmed he was. Before he could object to our intrusion, I stormed off toward the fire mage’s den, my personal goon squad in tow.
I burst into the elder Talent’s tower office like a tornado of authority and venom and started barking orders. “Steele—search the office for any traces of thermite or other similar powders. Quinto—check the desk. See if you can find any hidden connections between Mr. Talent and Reginald. Rodgers—over there, behind that telescope…is that a safe? Let’s get it open. I want to see what’s inside.”
The master of flames himself, old Chucky Talent, who’d been seated at his desk as we entered, stood up in a rage. Color bloomed in his cheeks, burning all the brighter next to his silvery hair. “What in the world is the meaning of this, Detective?”
Jeeves stumbled in behind us. “I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t stop them. They wouldn’t listen.”
I strolled over to Mr. Talent’s desk, meeting him eye to eye. I handed him the envelope.
“This,” I told him, “is a warrant for us to search the premises for any information regarding the death of your son-in-law-to-be, Mr. Reginald Powers. Feel free to have a look.”
Charles raked his finger under the seal, flipped open the letter, and scanned his eyes across the page. If anything, the color in his cheeks reached a deeper shade of red.
“Detective Daggers, I assure you that—”
Rodgers butted in. “Mr. Talent? My apologies, but I’m going to have to see what’s in this safe.”
Charles shot Rodgers and me a heated glance before turning toward his strongbox with a growl. The safe was a solid, steel-bodied affair with a single dial combination lock. Mr. Talent gave the dial a few spins, cranked the lever, and cracked open the door before turning back to face me. His eyes smoldered with a fiery wrath, hinting at the untold powers swirling beneath his skin. I held my ground.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, Detective,” he said with an ill-restrained fury, “but my patience with you is wearing quite thin. I tried to be as forthright with you as possible during our last meeting, yet here I am, being treated in a manner quite unbefitting of someone in my station.”
“Oh, really?” I said. “And how is it that in your forthrightness you somehow forgot to mention your business arrangement with Mr. Powers? The mutual benefits you received from his contracts? Don’t you think that might’ve been pertinent to our investigation? Let me tell you what I think, Mr. Talent. I think you know something about Mr. Powers that you’re not telling us. And I intend to find out what.”
“Be my guest,” said Mr. Talent. “Search for something incriminating that I assure you doesn’t exist. But know this. I know some very accomplished, very tenacious lawyers, and should your little warrant here prove to be unfounded, I’m sure they’ll find a way to—”
“Hey, Daggers!” Rodgers spared me from learning what sort of misery awaited me if I was wrong. “Come look at this.”
I eased my way around the fire mage and sidled up next to Rodgers, who stood by the safe, flipping through some papers.
“You find anything?” I asked.
“You could say that. These are all letters from Reginald. And not just any letters. Extortion letters. Reginald was blackmailing Mr. Talent.”
“WHAT?” bellowed Talent. “That’s preposterous!”
I hid my smirk. It seemed like a poor and potentially dangerous time to whip it out. I didn’t particularly want to get burned to a crisp in a fit of rage.
“Charles Blaze Talent, the third,” I said, “turn around and place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for the murder of Reginald Powers.”
Mr. Talent ground his teeth. For a moment the heat seemed to leach out of the air and flow into the stone-faced man before me. His eyes burned with a fiery passion. I sent a hasty silent prayer to the gods for mercy. I had no desire to experience what toast felt like.
Apparently, the gods heard my prayers.
Felicity Talent burst up the stairs and into the room. Her hair was wilder than before and her eyes even puffier than I remembered. She bore a look of pain, shock, and confusion, as if the sensations had been boiled together and slathered over her face with an offset spatula.
A bare two steps behind Felicity was her beautiful friend with the frumpy name—Gretchen. She bore the same look of horror as Felicity, but it couldn’t quite keep her lusty smolder at bay. I suppressed the urge to howl, but I didn’t have to make quite as concerted an effort as the first time we’d met. As it turns out, the threat of being turned into a meat kebab puts a damper on my libido.
“Father!” said Felicity. “What is this? What’s going on?”
Exposure to his daughter’s emotional distress appeared to cool the resident fire mage, both literally and figuratively. The warmth flowed back into the space around me as he addressed his daughter.
“Now, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I’m sure this is all some sort of cruel misunderstanding. I’ll accompany the detectives back to their station so we can discuss what exactly it is they think they’ve uncovered. In the meantime, contact my lawyer. Tell him to meet me at the precinct. And for the love of the gods, take poor Gretchen home. She’s a mess!”
It was true. The busty babe I’d come to know quite well in my fantasies had started to sob uncontrollably. She muttered things along the lines of ‘This can’t be happening…’ and ‘Why, gods, why?’.
Felicity wrapped her arms around her and the pair cried in tandem, belting out the world’s saddest duet.
Charles Talent turned to face me. “Detective, I’d appreciate it if we could avoid handcuffs. I give you my word I won’t cause any trouble. Quite honestly the cuffs wouldn’t do you a whole lot of good anyway. Now, if we could please go? I’d like to settle this matter as quickly as possible.”
Who was I to argue with an offer like that? I gave the geezer a nod, motioned my fellow detectives out, and got a move on.
44
“I still can’t believe you went to Loaders without me. You know how much I love their sandwiches.”
Rodgers glared at me from behind his desk, a limp turkey wrap clenched in his mitts.
“Every red-blooded male loves sandwiches,” I said from across the office. “It comes as a package deal with the plumbing.”
“Exactly,” said Rodgers with a point of his index finger. “Which makes your deception that much more egregious. You owe me, bud.”
“Add it to my tab. I already owe you a beer.”
“That you do.” Rodgers took another bite of his wrap and made a face. “Ugh. I could use one right about now to be honest.”
“Don’t let any of that seditious talk reach the Captain’s ears,” I said. “You know how he feels about drinking on the job.”
“I’m pretty sure he makes an exception when the drinking is a direct response to headaches you create, Daggers.” Rodgers flashed me a smile. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he has a flask in his desk earmarked specifically for days where you’re particularly ornery.”
“Ornery is my middle name,” I said. “Would’ve been Sassy if I’d been born a girl.”
I leaned back in my chair and turned my eyes to the documents we’d gathered at the mage’s house. While I’d expected to discover some sort of incriminating evidence at the Talent palace, even I had to admit stumbling across
a blackmail letter was extremely fortuitous. I scanned my eyes across the page again to be sure I’d absorbed the full meaning of the written word, as well as the unwritten intent behind it:
Charles,
You know I’ve always admired your shrewd business sense. You put matters of commerce above personal relationships, a fortitude many others in your position don’t possess. That courage is what allowed our previous arrangement to flourish as it did, despite its somewhat dubious legal standing.
Therefore, I’m surprised you’re being so steadfast in your opinion regarding the prenuptial agreement. In our last discussion, I thought I’d made it clear how dissolution of said agreement would be beneficial for both of us. For me, financially, and for you, legally.
Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough. Please find enclosed a small sampling of the sorts of records that might accidentally be leaked should you fail to comply with my request.
Please do not take it personally. After all, it’s just business.
—R. P.
The ‘records’ referred to in the letter covered the entire left half of my desk. Financial documents similar to those we’d requisitioned from Drury Arms. Collusion agreements between Reginald and Mr. Talent. Signed affidavits connecting Perspicacious Blaze to the weapons we’d uncovered in the warehouse hidden among the drapers. Some, if not most, of the documents were undoubtedly forged, but they hinted at the truth—a truth Mr. Talent had clearly not wanted revealed. A truth that had plucked Reginald from the cusp of unparalleled luxury and transported him down the river to meet his maker.
Shay and Quinto walked up as I perused the files.
“Your boy’s all ready, Daggers,” said Quinto.
“You’ve got the Talent geezer set up in an interrogation room?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Shay. “We put him in the brightly lit one. We didn’t think slighting him by giving him the basement suite was a particularly smart idea.”
